Broken
by Ayaren
Summary: Prequel to Black-Winged Angel. Sydney is tired of betrayal so she seeks out the only person who has yet to betray her, Sark. AU post-Indicator (S2)
1. Under A Shadow

Disclaimer: Alias is not mine.

Title: Broken

Author: Ayaren (aka Abyssinian)

Rating: G (I suppose)

Timeline: AU S2 post-Indicator. This comes before my other fics Black-Winged Angel and Acceptance.

Summary: They lived under the same shadow.

A/N: a big hug and thankyou to my buddy Luce for betaing this fic

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Part One: _Under A Shadow_

It was not until _he_ said something that she realised she was anything but 'ok'.

She thought she had dealt with it. That the knowledge the spy world had chosen her when she had been too young to make that decision for herself was acceptable, if not yet entirely all right. She thought she might even be able to forgive her father one day, because even while she condemned his actions as the worst kind of betrayal she found herself understanding why. After all, what parent would not do anything to protect their child?

Even so she found herself relying on her ability to compartmentalise more than ever. A wry voice inside her head suggested that if she boxed up any more feelings she would need to start a filing system if she ever wanted to find them again. She ran through the list in her mind. Firstly if she wanted to stay alive she had to treat the man who killed her fiancé like a second dad. Then she had to hide her knowledge of SD-6's true affiliation and her own double agent status. Lying to Dixon in particular left her guilt-ridden more than once. Of course she could not forget having to keep her job secret from Francie —thankfully life was a little easier now Will knew, not much but it helped. Then there was that whole mess with her mother. Oh, and then trying to maintain a professional distance from Agent Vaughn when he was one of the few people she felt she could actually trust.

And now add Daddy to the list, she muttered bitterly. She had to work with him every day and pretend to Sloane there was no rift between them at all.

Yep, she was going to go insane one of these days. That or change her name and move to the tropics.

And yet, another part of her whispered, she got herself into these situations, some of which could have been avoided. She liked it, the voice accused. She enjoyed the drama of it all, her own personal soap opera.

Maybe that was why she was standing in front of _his_ door. Well, the door to the hotel room she had to great lengths to discover he was currently occupying. Because she knew, no matter what happened, she was just adding a further complication to her already convoluted life.

Of course, she would not have been Sydney Bristow if things were easy.

And she had to exorcise him from her mind, rid herself of his voice, his smirk, telling her the truths she had hidden from herself. She had to confront him and tell him he was wrong, and then maybe she would sleep in peace. Hopefully.

Taking a deep breath to calm her already nervous mind she stepped forward and raised a hand to knock. Before she could do his amused voice piped up to her left and she spun, hand instinctively going to the gun holstered in the small of her back.

He was leaning casually against the wall and smirking at her as he informed her he had been watching for the past five minutes. She just glared at him, partly in embarrassment, as he swept past her and unlocked the door with a flourish, gesturing for her to enter before him.

She took one last furtive glance down the corridor and then slipped inside, her body trembling with anticipation as she sunk awkwardly onto the room's couch. Her eyes followed him as he moved into the bathroom, stripping off his black jacket and sweater as he went. It was obvious he had just returned from a job. Idly she wondered who his target had been and then decided she was better off not knowing.

She knew what he was and she was not here to condemn him. She did wonder at his trust in her though as he willingly left her alone while he showered. Perhaps he had known she would come, and that tonight she meant him no harm.

It was just like him to know her so well. Some part of her thought he understood her more than anyone, more than her father or Vaughn, or even herself, but she ruthlessly suppressed that notion. He did not know her, not at all.

And yet, out of everyone she had come to him.

He emerged moments later clad in the same trousers but shirtless as he towelled his hair dry, pushing the blonde curls back from his eyes. She watched him cross to the wardrobe in unabashed appreciation, her gaze focussed on the muscles of his back. He was not a broad man, but within his slender frame was a body hardened by years of training.

Pulling on a shirt he apologised for his lack of manners, citing her unexpected arrival as an excuse. She shrugged, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, not missing the flash that passed through his eyes at the movement. She had seen that before in her father. Somehow the action reminded both men of the other woman they had in common. Jack's wife. Sark's teacher. Her mother.

She accepted the drink he offered her, forcing icy fingers to clench around the glass. It was testimony to the trust she was placing in him that she did not even consider the possibility it was drugged before she drank.

Watching him sprawl across a nearby chair with the careless grace of a cat she instinctively knew that tonight they had called a truce. She needed something from him and he was curious to know what it was. She set the glass down on the coffee table and leaned forward with a sigh.

It was now or it was never.

With that indecipherable blue gaze focussed on her she just let go and told him everything she had not been able to tell anyone else. Even to her it seemed strange, almost other-worldly that this man, her nemesis, was the only one she felt would understand. He was everything she strove to destroy, but none of that mattered right now. After all it had been his words, a taunt spoke merely to provoke her for his own amusement during their last confrontation, which had brought her to his door.

At the time she had been disgusted that he would dare to liken their respective situations and bitten back with a fairly standard reply consisting of a mix of insults, physical blows and the determined insistence that they were _nothing_ alike. They had nothing in common, she said, he was bad and she was good and that was all he needed to know.

But later when she knew she should just forget those words she found she could not. Words she had brushed off with ease on the previous occasions when he used them against her echoed over and over in her mind. They were designed merely to throw her off, to get her angry so that she was not thinking as clearly as she should have been. It was just another one of his weapons and usually she had been able to ignore it.

Only this time what he said was true and she was no longer capable of denying it. She was tired of trusting no one to watch her back, she said with an air of defeat, and so was he.

He arched an eyebrow at that but made no move to deny it. She was more perceptive than he had given her credit for. A faint frown creased his forehead as he asked her what he was supposed to do about it. They were enemies after all, she had no business bringing her problems to him.

Which brought him to ask the very question she had known he would and hoped to avoid answering: Why was she here now? Why not go to her beloved boy scout?

Because as her enemy he was the one person she expected to betray her, and he was the one person who had not done so. Because she did not care about him and therefore she could not hurt him. And, more importantly, he could not hurt her.

She recounted her list as he contemplated her words with the air of a man tasting wine. Project Christmas. Laura Bristow. The Alliance. Even Alice, Vaughn's perfect little girlfriend found her way onto Sydney Bristow's list. Her father had taken away her choices. Her mother had lied from the beginning. The Alliance were just the bad guys and Vaughn, the one person she had thought she could trust, had returned to his oblivious blonde once again. And then there were her friends, Will had been brought into something he never should have known because of her, his life destroyed for love of her.

She was sick of having to lie to the people she cared about, of expecting everyone around her to betray her some day. She was tired of placing her trust in someone only to discover her mistake in the most painful of ways. Arvin Sloane. Noah Hicks. Jack Bristow. Irina Derevko. Even Michael Vaughn and Will Tippin had betrayed her, the former blind to the love she felt and the latter ignoring her pleas to leave Danny's death alone.

Her shoulders slumped and she buried her face in her hands. It was too much for one person to handle alone, she told him. Surely he understood the destructive nature of their work. Surely he could sympathise with her. After all, was that not the reason why he was so cold, so unapproachable? To keep others away.

They were poison, she said, he knew it too.

He did not answer her.

Those oft-despised blue eyes offered nothing when she chanced another glance at them. Her host merely raised his glass to his lips and drank. She could see the lingering suspicion in the faintest of frowns creasing his forehead. He was well aware of her skills as an actress and it was clear he was not entirely convinced by her display.

Whatever courage had possessed her to seek him out fled in the face of his scepticism. The mask that had hidden her for longer than she cared to remember gave way as he maintained his silence. The control she had prided herself for vanished as she let the first flush of tears come. Her body shuddered with the release of over a year of the most strenuous suppression and she drew her knees up to chest, rocking slightly as she wept for the Sydney Bristow who had been lost so long ago.

He watched without speaking, the only sounds in the room the hum of the electricity and her wracking sobs. She felt his gaze on her and some part of her inwardly thanked him. He would offer her no comfort, real or otherwise. That was what made him different.

Yet, to her surprise, she felt his body settle onto the couch next to hers and another drink was thrust into her hands. He was careful to leave space between them as he leaned his elbows on his thighs and stared out the windows.

Tears continued to mark a trail down her cheeks but she raised her head to look at him.

Perhaps, he said with a faint sigh, poison could counteract poison.

She reached out and clasped his hand in hers. His head turned towards her and she saw the haunted weariness in his face, the same weariness that could be seen in her own. She felt a kinship with him then, and knew by the sudden widening of his eyes that he did too.

They lived under the same shadow, and maybe together they could come into the light.

END PART ONE.

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A/N2: Phew, ok well there it is folks. The long awaited prequel hath been half finished, and I have to say it was quite an effort. The damn thing really doesn't want to be written but I was determined not to disappoint. Though really, I'm not satisfied with it and it'll probably disappoint anyway … oh well.

Oh, and Part Two might be a while (say another couple of months since I'm _really_ busy right now, by rights I should have been writing an essay instead of finishing part one, but oh well).


	2. Descent

Ok, before you read the second half of Broken I'd like to say a few words to everyone. I don't have time to write thankyous and comments individually (really no time!) but I can say a big, humungous THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed or just read this fic .

I wasn't sure whether Broken needed this second part in the end, but I wrote it anyway, and while it does follow on it can stand alone (pretty much). I don't think it's as good as the first part but I had fun writing it, and that's all that matters

So, on with Broken Part II: _Descent_ …

Oh yeah, and another thing, here's the official Ayaren order of the fics:

Broken Part I: Under A Shadow

Broken Part II: Descent

Broken Part III: Black-Winged Angel

Broken Part IV: Acceptance.

Now, go forth and enjoy (or not, it's your choice :-P) …

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Disclaimer: Alias is not mine.

Title: Broken

Author: Ayaren (aka Abyssinian)

Rating: G (I suppose)

Timeline: AU S2 post-Indicator. This comes before my other fics Black-Winged Angel and Acceptance.

Summary: He had agreed to help her, and he was a man of his word.

Again my thanks to my good pal Lucy for her amazing betaing skills!

Part Two: _Descent_

He did not know how long they had been sitting together but a glance out the window at the dawn-stained sky told it him it had been nearly half the night. Neither of them had really slept, they were still enemies after all, but he knew he had drifted between sleeping and waking more than once yet remained always alert to the slightest movement of the woman next to him.

She was still seated there, brown eyes darkened in thought and her left leg pressed against his right, the only part of their bodies touching. It was all they needed to draw comfort in their shared disillusionment. She had barely spoken a word since her initial outburst, preferring the silence he was more than willing to grant.

What could he say aloud that his continued presence alone did not? He would offer no false words of comfort and she would not accept them. Instead he used the quiet to sort back through every memory he had of her, searching for the moment he knew must exist; the moment she had lost herself. Had it really been his words that pushed her over the edge, or was she already falling and he had simply been the one to deliver the final blow?

A ragged sigh issued from her lips, drawing his attention to her face as she glanced at him. He saw the reluctance in her expression and knew what she was going to say. She had to leave, it was not yet the time for her to stay.

He offered her the use of his shower and she accepted gratefully. She rose stiffly, her muscles protesting at the movement, and stretched her arms. He watched her disappear into the bathroom, softly closing the door behind her, and then stood. Making his way over to the bed he picked up his cell phone from where he had dropped it earlier.

Quickly dialling a number he knew by heart, and of which even Irina Derevko had been unaware, he studied the panelling of the bathroom door as he waited for the person on the other end to answer. Issuing a brief set of instructions he ended to call and tossed the phone down again, sighing as he made his way to the wardrobe for a fresh set of clothes.

He had agreed to help her, and he was a man of his word.

While he waited for her he wandered over to the kitchenette and made himself a cup of coffee before retrieving the newspaper left outside his door. He was seated at the dining table scanning through the headlines when she emerged from the bathroom. She looked better, the hot water having brought a faint flush of colour to her cheeks, but there was still a pained glint to her eyes.

She declined the offer of coffee, her flight was leaving this morning, and he promised to contact her soon. She smiled and then leaned over to brush her lips over his cheek, murmuring her thanks.

He started at the action, eyes widening in surprise. She laughed softly and glided away without another word. He watched her go, pulling the door closed behind herself, and lowered the newspaper with a heartfelt sigh, still flustered. His eyes turned unseeing to the words spread out in front of him. This was what he wanted, to be her partner, to work with her, so why did he feel like it was all so wrong?

Was it because she had come to him like that, a broken doll in need of repair? Did she really think he was the one who could do it? He hoped not, that burden was too much for him to even consider bearing. What man could ever hope to fix all the problems in Sydney Bristow's life? His mind briefly flicked to the Boy Scout but he dismissed the man immediately, she had come to him for a reason. She believed in no one else.

She had lost faith, and she was willing to try anything if it meant salvaging some part of what she had been.

He carefully placed her in the back of his mind as he showered and dressed, trying to ignore the lingering scent she had left behind, and left the hotel without a trace. But even as he resolved to ignore her she crept back and he found himself wondering.

Did she really understand what she was asking him for? She wanted freedom, he knew that, but even he admitted that was something he could never give her. There would be no American Dream. No house with a white picket fence, children, an SUV and a dog. He could give her none of that. All he offered was running away, hiding who she was for the rest of her life, her _short_ life.

Did she realise she was exchanging one life of deception for another? Somehow, despite that naiveté he had witnessed in her on occasion, he thought she did. She would not have come to him if she had not been certain it was her only possible course of action. But then, he knew she was susceptible to rash decision-making. Daniel Hecht was proof of that.

He wanted her to see. He wanted to show her what this life really was. She had seen both sides in SD-6 and the CIA but she still could not understand. At SD-6 her exposure to the darker aspects of their world had been limited. She had not killed in cold blood. She had not taken life for money. She had not faced the world alone with no one to turn to. She always had a shoulder to cry on, he chuckled faintly, even his.

That night, a whole continent away, he eyed the folder lying next to him. His next assignment. An operative in the Man's organisation whom he had discovered was an agent from British Intelligence. Blue eyes narrowed as he considered it and he rose to pour himself more wine. His gaze travelled back to the folder as he raised the glass to his lips. Yes, that would do nicely. She would discover what the CIA and SD-6 had always sheltered her from. He would bring her into the real world, on his terms.

He would show her what it meant to be the daughter of Irina Derevko.

She was in Paris when he came for her, slipping into her hotel room in the early hours of the morning, handing her a set of clothes and telling her follow him. She hesitated before complying and then glared and grumbled all the way down to his waiting car, demanding to know what was so important it could not wait. Dixon was in the room next door and she was afraid he would discover her missing.

Sark just smiled and courteously helped her into the car before striding around and slipping into the driver's seat. He told her to be patient. All would be revealed in time.

She glared at him again and muttered something sulkily about arrogant British assassins and jet lag. He smirked and pulled out into the traffic.

The club was like a thousand others across the world. But after tonight Sark knew that it would never be the same again. Not for him, and not for Sydney. He briefed her in the car, taking particular care to ensure she knew exactly who the target was, and more importantly who he worked for.

He gave her the chance to back out, some small part of him hoping that she would. Instead she gave him a look that meant business and held out a hand for the knife he was holding. With a pleased smirk he led her inside, an arm draped casually around her waist.

He waited in the shadows as she made her way towards the mark, hips swaying slightly to the beat of the music. Silently impressed he watched her ingratiate herself with that Sydney Bristow charm that could have any man begging for her. Except him, he reflected, she had never tried it on him.

It took only a few minutes for her to disappear from his line of sight with the British agent, and only a few more for her to return alone. Her mouth was set in a hard line and there was something frighteningly empty about her eyes. They left wordlessly and he made no move to touch her this time.

She began laughing as they drove away. At first it was faint, barely audible, but it soon grew in volume. It was a hysterical laugh that spoke of a sudden fear of freedom. He had given her a release, and as he watched her out of the corner of his eye he did not feel the relief he had expected, only sadness.

She had lost something tonight. He was not going to be clichéd and label it her innocence. Sydney Bristow had never been innocent, not with Arvin Sloane as her boss. Yet there was something that had set her apart from him, her belief in the right of things, and he had taken it away from her. A part of him, the conscience he had long denied an existence, told him that he should have said no that night in the hotel. He should have sent her back to the CIA with his trademark smirk and a shake of his head so that they could meet once again in the field, as adversaries. She would be fighting for her country; he would be fighting for himself. That was the way things should be.

She was good and he was bad, and that was all he needed to know, she had told him once. Now, with her laughter in his ears and the maddened sparkle in her eyes, he realised that the distinction was now irrelevant. He was still bad but was she good any more?

He had agreed to help her and now she was willing to follow him as he gave her all the blood she wanted until her thirst for vengeance was sated. His fingers gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He had her now, she was going to be his, but at what cost?

A different part of him said it did not matter, that it was acceptable for him to put his own self-interest ahead of everyone else's, even hers. A selfish creature by nature, he knew that part was right and quashed whatever disagreement his conscience tried to voice. She was his now and he was willing to do anything to keep her, even destroy everything that made her the sainted Sydney of the CIA.

When he dropped her back at the hotel she kissed him and he sensed the despair she was desperately trying to hide from him. He pulled away from her and told her no. She did not want it anymore than he did. She just wanted someone to prove to her that she was still real, still worthy of feeling. He knew; he had done the same with Allison.

Tears glistened in her eyes as she apologised breathlessly and clambered out hastily without her usual grace. He followed and caught her arm before she could escape inside. He understood what they were, he said, and when she finally did they could take that step if they wanted to. Until then she had to go back.

She forced him to promise again and he complied gladly to reassure her. Not everyone in her life had abandoned her, even if he was the enemy. Again he would contact her, and this time it would be final.

Without another word she left him, returning to her old life to say farewell to the people who had been unable to save her; had never known she needed saving in the first place.

Days later he met her at the airport, easily picking her out from the crowd pushing through the arrival gate despite the platinum blonde wig and sunglasses. As he approached her he allowed himself a faint smirk of triumph. No matter what persona she wore he could always pick her out with that instinctual recognition that lingered between them. He had recognised her in Denpasar, he could recognise her now.

She removed the sunglasses when she saw him, tucking them into her handbag as she waited for him to reach her side. A genuine smile broke across her face and she slipped her hand into his, gripping tightly for a moment and then letting go. She thanked him softly, and her eyes betrayed her relief from the fear he would not have come.

He found himself returning the smile with one of his own and took the opportunity to drop a kiss on her forehead before stepping away again; partly to see the same surprise in her eyes that he knew had been in his in the hotel room that morning, and partly because he could.

There was a car waiting, he told her before she could speak, though he knew she wanted to. He caught her gaze with his, it was not too late yet and she could still return to LA if she wished.

She shook her head and then leaned up and kissed him, just as she had done in Paris, and this time he let her. The desperation was still there and it was his as well. She had seen something of him that night ―the weariness and the fear that it was all for nothing― and he was finally ready to admit it to himself.

He was lost, had been for a long time. His true purpose had drowned in a life of blood, of death and of pretending he did not care. He glanced at the woman beside him as she followed him outside and knew he was using her the same way she was using him. He was afraid of moving forward on his own, but with her at his side he might find the courage to acquire a new purpose.

Bitter amusement washed over him and he laughed quietly. Here they were, two enemies so broken by the world that they could only trust each other. Because he knew she trusted him to protect her, the hotel had proven that, and, out of courtesy, he could rely on her in return.

One day, she said as she sensed the change his revelation wrought within him, they would find what they were looking for. One day it would end.

One day, he agreed, wishing more than believing his own words. Maybe the end would come, but he wondered if it was the end she wanted. He found he did not really care; he was content to live in this world of shadows as long as she was by his side, no matter what happened. She needed him to heal her wounds, and he needed her to do the same for him in return.

They were bound together, not by happiness, kindness or even love, but by a promise of vengeance against those who had wronged them. Yet there was also a promise of freedom if he was willing to take it when the opportunity arose.

END.

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Well, there you go, the conclusion to Broken. I hope it was worth the way (tell me if it wasn't, I crave any kind of feedback, good or bad). Thanks for reading 


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